■ ■' ' ’■'• - ' ' “ COUNTRY—MAY XT ALWAYS t)R C *
46.
CAN VOLUNTEER,
ID EVERY THURSDAY MORHINO BY
HX I). BRATTON.
TERMS.
N. —Ono Dollar and Fifty Cents, paid
'wo Dollars if paid within the year;
ars and Fifty Conte, if not paid within
eso terms will bo rigidly adhered .to hi
3. No subscription discontinued until
are paid unless at the option of the
lirakis—.Aoebpjpaniod by the oAsn,_and
g oho square, will bo ■ inserted three
i Dollar, and twenty-five cents for ct.oh
S insertion. Those of a greater length in
no Hand-bills, Posting-bills,
Labels, Ac. <to., executed with
’swMnr^^(as^3fthe shortest notice'.
fottiml
A LOST LOVE.
yet so desolate;
id yet so young;
;riof too deep for tears,
for tell-tale tongue!
I floweret in her hand,
hand, so white 1,
to eye, from her casement high
upon tho night.
rosebud—r
iple flower—>
3 no mope iva it scorn’d to bloom -
jany a lono lone hour,
fpom bop forpp’d touoli away,
wither’d and brown,
she doom’d too bright to bo drpapj’d
dip# ftnfl fluttering flown,
mph of the Present
ik the sweet oajni Past j
summer murmuring'
;ard through the wintry blast f
d is rough with sob ana with sough
ipon gable and tree,
alms wail like spectres pale,
;nos like a passionate sea.
kS of a dreamy twilight
•don walk below,
i whispering in their sloop,
iite rose in full b)ow.
)on had sunk away
palo quoenj to dio
shroud of an opal cloud
i 0 air's tremulous sigh.
reshly real; .
ibducd eolipso,
1, and heart in heart
rill'of the wedded,lips; .
mcmoricsj how they flush
and brow again, -'
I bo changed, and lip estranged
such loving then I ,
■. oldstoiy • . -
1 o^n.in vain j
fcho freedom of passion,
the calm and the pain, .
s ® wl, gtfof is read
pale sufforiug fuoo,
cling on to loyo that is gone
:^'nynith- 'o’f its ftrstembruc?.’.
'■S® ,K ‘ l for tha.oarclcsß spirit
the wob of rhyme; ' •
'• tho idle memories
hf:- , .\V-A^ i T-^jyS^^d n ifc on fcho breath of time; s
ml) for many am aching heart,- ;
■ I 3J<rfdr^^ : to forgot the light that has sot.
slwjriV.; '
If [From the Dollar Neiospaper.]
evening hemoby, '
AIIDEEI. cnAmpEif. '
and keen to.-nigjit; the
J'MMaßteißSgflwid l with ft Wabtlp of spotless
wijpi thfttswPPps ftp land
ft# silvery ropsip pf holla,
bf ftpsk yopng vOicps/ps
: tthlSioii#»wls : glid.o oyer the wliitp to/iA,
OS this, two yapra Sgo,
;when ; jingling apd glgd hearts
the soft robss,. that I came
upthewellbiglidesortcd streets towards my
A year be-:
Ibroiii'bad dpoi’ed gn office for the practice of
! town, J was thirty
admitted to fto bar
-ffigh|;;ye»^.' ! ffihose eight years bad
I had floated upon the
Blane ; danced away
Faria and I/Ondon, and
tbany summers at Bnden-
of wandering, I came
; village had’not altered
, my nftnd, it had grown
dullest place on the
among my friends'and
been many changes.— I
Heaven’s smile their
’g men and women of I
, married and settled in
dud girls wore grown dp
''ho bloek-eyed Soso who
we parted that , dewy
do matron, with little
(her,- No
jj* drtam, arid it had far
f hgd not been many
■O J found pjy morning
it was not Jong before'
inn, tljc joy and blessing
ivpd only ono yegr in
wo with an uncle, for
trod, except a brother,
cist, studying his grt in
, dearest gir} ip. the
not a beauty, and-corr
i our simple village go,
share of the merriment
, but aho was too nnas>
;cial attention, J was
1 1 had had other swaet
ily lovod before, and I
is I coveted lavished too
wed to follow her grace
;h the crowd,, to catch
tear, hazel eyes, to see
iging in her cheeks un
mset over snow. But
jo were the evenings I
ittle parlor with her by
nestling in mine, her
innocent joy ns I drew
l ® time when she would
iM>- .• , „ joioing to the happiest
Piasbdnds, 1 !';.;!'^-';;,
(fine bvtmingrwhon I came up from i»y of
be,bnd stoppbd there for a moment, Nellie
idrnoktibet ipe idt the door, to welcome me
bs usual. Her uncle lot
“•'ntfMMfiiiead. and I passed on to. the parlor.
partly open, and to my aston
.mealed Nellie seated on an
seat-rand by her side
»>ft waving brown
and sparkling hazel eyes.
hoy waist, her hand in
up into his face with a
her glance. They were
not oven hoar my stop
b tha passage. With a green-eyed monster
clutching mo in its fiery embraoo, I turned si
lently away, The,housemaid’ met mo in the
porch—l inquired, carelessly, if Nellie had
gone away ?
“ Gone away 1 No. Mr. Willis is just
come. They are in the parlor, I think/’
Mr. Willis, Mr, Willis. I ground the
name over between my set teeth. So she was
false, false and heartless all along, Her shy
ways, her quietness, her childish frankness,
were but the arts of a practiced coquette, who
won hearts only to trample them under her
feet. With this hell raging in my bosom, I
strode homeward. On the table, in my room,
I found several letters awaiting my perusal.
One was from an old college chum, containing
an urgent invitation for mo to visit him in
his city homo. As an extra inducement for
me to go, he wrote that his cousin Bell was
still with them, and unmarried. And fur
thermore, that she had taken a groat fancy
to my humble self, my foreign whiskers, my
foreign manners; and, if I choose, I could bn
come possessor of her hand, together with the
handsome fortune that would dowdr it.
Good. I remembered Bell. Ihadseerihor
at her cousin’s, where I visited him on my
return from abroad. She was a splendid crea
ture—gay, witty ond accomplished-superb
.form, magnificent eyes, smiles that were la
vished, on all. True, I had been disgusted
with her heartless coquetry; even her wit and
gnyety luid wearied me. Perhaps I had mis,
judged her,TEST had another. I had wooed a
coquette, in the guise of an angel, Might I
not win an angel in the guise of a coquette ?
I would go to the city then, and drown iny
disappointment and anger and sorrow in plea
sure and excitement. In five minutes ! came
to this conclusion,' J packed-up my trunk
and despatched several business letters, then
throw myself on the bod to brood over my ru
ined hopes, and wait anxiously fop the .mor
row,
The old lady who kept my dreary house,
asked mo :whero I was going; when would I
come back, I,was going away* I could not
tell whore, I did not know when I should
return; perhaps in a week, perhaps never,—,
Breakfast finished and my trunk despatched
to the station, walked down the street by her
house. I did' not intend to look up, but some
thing in mb stronger than my resolution com
pelled mo to do so. She was standing by the
window of the breakfast" room, her hand rest
ing on his shoulder as he sat by her side.--.
She disappeared in a moment when she saw
me. Another time I should have known that
she was coming to meet mo, but jiow I thought
she was afraid to see mo, ashamed to look in
the face of one she had so foully wronged. ,1
strode on faster than over.. In ton minutes
more I was whirling along towards the city..
In one month ! grew tired of the city, wea
ry of its pleasures and excitement; weary of
Sell, who was a belle indeed. Not for amine
of gold would I have taken her to my arms
and called her. wife. My love for Nellie grew
stronger than ever; all my confidence and
trust revived. I hated myself for over having
doubted her. I would go hack to Lorain, she
would- -hlk l mn»t forgive *mo -- aW-would giro
me her love and confidence, and then, that
nothing might ever* come between our "hearts"
again, I would claim her at the holy altar my
own forever. . j
I came to this conclusion one evening when
a headache kept mo at home; they—Bell and
all, had gone , and left me, and I sat in tho
great gloomy . parlor,. chewing the cud of
“sweet and bitter reflections." The next
morning I bade my friends adieu. I reached
Lorain in the evening, two years ago to-night.
The streets were almost deserted, the lights
out in many houses ;-woncb in a while a sleigh
with prancing steeds dashed along thp white
road. I did not ride up in the parrigg'e; I
walked homo that I might pass her hopse,—
There was a light in the little parlor. Per
haps she was there by the gloomy lire, Was
she thinking of mo—was she wandering why
I did not return—why J had gone away with
out a word of farewell ? Late as it was, I de
termined to go in, I had often done so as
late when I.was harrying homeward, just for
a good-night Jpiss, My hand was upon t);e
gate when the door opened. Some ope came
out; it was not Nellie's graceful form. No, I
recognised the waving hair, the handsome
face, paler now it was, and almost ghastly in
the clear room light, ns he came across the
porch and leaned against one of the columns
with folded arms. The greeneyed serpent
stup'g me again; I pulled the gate to and hunt
ried along, Some . one was coming; they
should not see mo waiting there and retail it
to the village gossips, It was the Doctor,
who stopped mo as I was passing, him by.
“ So you have got back," ho said, in his
abrupt, business like way. '* Did you know
that Nellie was dead ?"
“ Nellie dead 1 Good God 1” A cold shud
der ran through mo. I loaned upon the pol
lings for support, trembling in every limb.
“ Yes,” the Doctor went on, “ she died this
afternoon. You can’t think how' hard they
all take it. Her brother, Willis, who had just
come home from Italy, is almost distracted
with grief. She took cold three weeks ago
brought bn a fever. If there had been only
the fever she might have recovered; but there
was abijfothing'clse; eonjo anxiety or trouble,
I think, to help! it. along, She w.as delirious
pfos.tly,'(fud talked about you a' great ideal;
.-The 1 J/ootor was looking, hard at ipo; ho'
could havp's.aid nothing half so bitter ns iny
conscience was already saying.’ I felt the
brand of, Gain burning on my brow, We
went back together,' Her brother met ns in
the porch-—the brother _Willey, : of whom she
had been so proud and fond, {lo took my
hand in silence, then went before mo into the
hall and-upstairs to the .door of hor little
chamber, How cold and still it was! There
was a light burning on a table, and the moon,
beams lay in a broad unbroken sheet upon
the floor I staggered across the room and
knelt by the side of that low couch. 0, such
bitter anguish as was in my heart ! Thank
God, life will never bring mo another sorrow
ljk° that. There was nothing of death ip
that dear face, except its whiteness and stilt
ness.
It seemed as if ray hot toars upon that brow
of stone, my passionate kisses ,on those pale
lips, must have wakened her even from that
dreamless slumber. Oh, that those clear eyes
could have given mo one more look of,love;
those lips one more kiss, and whispered—?" 11
forgive, but, no, . .
“ Tho gates of Heaven wore closed,
• And she was gone.”
IC7“ A man who had recently boon elected
a major of militia, and who was not overbuy?
donod with brains, took it into his head op
the morning of parade, to'exercise a little by
himself. The field selected for the purpose
washis own apartment. Placing himself ip
a military attitude, with his sword drawn, he
exclaimed:
Attention, company 1 Roar rank, three
paces, march 1” and ho tumbled down into
me cellar. His wife hearing the racket, came
running in saying—
“My deary have you killed yourselff”
“Go about your business, woman,” said the
hero; •“ vyhat do you know about war ?”
lEip mu.
The "year 1860 is “Reap Year,” and com
sists of three hundred and sixty-six days, ono
day being added to the shortest month, Feb
ruary, which has luid, therefore, twenty-nine
days this year. Reap year occurs every 4th
year, and is so called because it leaps over a
day more than does any other year. It is also
called bissextile—from the Ratiii bis, twice,
and sexius, sixth—moaning the sixth of the
calends of March (corresponding to the 24th
of February) was reckoned twice every fourth
year by the interpolation of a day.
The necessity for Reap Yeararises from the
fact that the solar year docs not correspond
exactly with the civil year, in consequence of
its not ending exactly with a given day, but
with a fraction of a day. If it wore not for
this arrangement, Christmas, in the course of
time, would be in midsummer, and the fourth
of July in the depth of winter.
The true year consists of the time it takes
for the earth to make one revolution around
the sun, which is determined by its coming
back to the same point in the zodiac from
which it started, and this is accomplished in
three hundred and sixty-five days and nearly
six hours; but as the calender must consist
of complete days, these six hours are omitted,
and in four, years they make up a whole? day,
which is one added to the year, making what
is called a leap year. This, however, is not
strictly correct, for it is ascertained, by accu
rate calculations, that a solpr year is exactly
865 dpysj 5 hours, 48 minutes and 67.7 sec
onds j consequently, in putting on the six
hours, WC add 24- minutes 12,4 seconds in four
yeors, This, ip the course qf JsB} years,
would amount to twentyjpur hours, of a com
plete day. Every year, the number of which
is divisible by four without a remainder is a
leap year, except the last year of the century,
which is a leap year only when divisible by
400 without a remainder. Thus the year 1900
will not be a leap year.
The Roman year originally had but ten
months, as may bo seen in the meaning of the
;namo December, which is “tenth mouth.’’
March was the first month of the year in the
time of Romulus, and December was the last;
but Numa Pompilius, who knew astronomy
bettor/added January and February.
While Pome’s great founder made tho times his
care,* 5 ■
Tea months ho chose t*6 constitute-the year; -
But Puma, bettor skilled in astral loro,.
To llomuluS’ months adjoined two more.
• The Egyptians wore the first who approxi
mated to tho real length of the year, whichis
made to consist of three hundred and sixty
days; • Afterwards they added five days, as
was done by Thales, one of the seven wise
men of the Greeks, Jaws, Syrians, Ethiopi
ans, Homans, Persians and Arabs all had
years of different lengths.
The day on which the year commences is
also different in different countries, but in all
it is held in great veneration. Tho Jewish
historical -year commences with tho now moon
near tho yornal equinox, March 22d, and the
civil; year Tf.itlv ifco ■>' a\xtvmvp,p.l •; cqxiVnox; - JJJh©-
Mohammedans begin their year.the day when
the sun onters Aries;" the Persians" in the
month which answers to our June; the .Chi
nese and Indians with tho first new moon
which happens in March ; apd the Mexicans
on the 23d of February, at which time, the
verdure in that country begins to appear.
William the Conqueror having been crowned
on the first day of January, gave occasion to
begin their year on that day, in order to make
it correspond with tho rnost remarkable date
in their history.
Though the historical years begin in Eng
land on thp festival of the Circumcision, or
the first day of January, on which day the
Goripan and Italian years begins, yet the civil
or legal year did not commence till the day of
the Annunciation of the Virgin, the 25th day
March, The part of the year between those
terms was usually expressed in both these
ways, either 1748-8 or 1748r9. By tlio aotal
terrag tho style, the civil year now begins
with the Ist of January, The old style fol
lowed. tho Julian method of computing the
year by tho calendar established by Julius
Cffisar, in which every fourth year consists of
366 days, , and tho other years of 365, This
Julian arrangement of time makes, as'we
have seen, eleven minutes and some seconds
in a year too much, Pope Gregory Vlll re
formed the calendar by retrenching ten. days
in October, 1582, in order to bring back the
vernal equinox to the ..same. day as at the
Council of Nice, A. D. 325. The reformation
was adopted by act of Parliament in Great
Britain m 1751,. by which eleven days in Sep
tember, 1752, were retrenched, and tho third
day was reckoned the fourteenth. This mode
of reckoning is called the New Style.
Ticions Literature,
Parents and teachers are quite too forgetful
of one incumbent duty, viz; the guarding and
guiding of tho moral natures of the young,
ur children, unattended by faithful advisors,
are wandering away in forbidden paths guide-'
less and friendless—treading upon enchanted
ground—leveling among dangerous delusions.
Call thenj b.iek; go opt after them j 6 flV°
fhem 1 .
Are wb'hea'rd? Well, thoh, again we' tell
you, teachers, parent, bo vigilant; watch your
.children day and .night; look well to their
eternal interests,' for these are times of peril.
Let the influences of home, tho school and tho
Church, lib united,’ and/ as an ark, preserve
our dear youth from 1 the destructive deluge'of
modern infidel literature—r-tho corrupting
books and papers that flood our land.
Wo are in the midst of a plague not leas
loathsome' and its encroach
ments, than the plague of locusts;
Jt is the plague of papers, poisoned and puff
ed, and pressed upon tho people 1
."Paper.-, books; it njakos rao siok,
To .think how ye nro lijultipliiul;
J,ike Egypt's frogs- yo poke up thick,
■ Your ugly heads pn every side."
I Wo are not an enemy to books and papers,
by any manner of means, Sq far from it that
wo copld scarcely liyo away from thpir cbm?
pany, or without their influences, Indeed,
wo are most heartily in love with sobor, hon
est books, and plead guilty of flirting occa
sionally with sensible, well behaved poriodi-
I cals, .But wo do say, that amid such-im
mensely promiscous mixture of things trifling
and trpths thoughtful, there is imminent dan
ger that opr eager children may be deceived.
It is not “innocent amusement” to peruse
to peruse those tedious and terrible tales of
dangers and deaths, bombast and blood, fever
ish imaginations that are, emanating
from- burning brains and sin-siek -hearts. —-
Away with them I, Such readings destroy all
taste for history and the sciences.. Nature,
decorated in her loveliest May, is too homely
for the intoxicated fancies of the novel-reader;
1 and life itself becomes a weariness—a disap
pointment. Religion, so pure, and peaceable,
and precious, can pot find a welcome or a
homo in tho heart of the passionate novel rea
der. Aaron Burr.,a man of rnro genius and
fairest intellectual endowments, reveled in
CARLISLE, PA.j THURSDAY, MARCH 8,1860 f.
novels and infidel books in his youth, and as
p, natural consequence, dwarfed and dwindled
down into a traitor’s grave 1
For the immortal soul’s sake, let ns awake
to a discharge of our duty in this matter. It
is high time for us to oppose the tendency of
this latter day Satanism, Call if what-you
may; mingle as much sugar with the poison
as you choose; apologise for it forever if you
dare, it is, nevertheless, a deadly dose to all
who swallow it. A grain of strychnine is not
less fatal from being sweetened with a : hun
dred times its bulk in honey. The mind must
have pure wholesome, nutfioious diet, or it
will languish and die the second deatlj.H
Let us, as Educators and Christians* strive
humbly, earnestly; and devotedly, prayerful
ly, to counteract this growing evil. May our'
hostility to it be mingled with our toa'ohings,
henceforth, while life shall last!— Educator.
A Printer’s Story..
Once (last Friday,) item greedy, sat .this
writer sad and seedy, pondering o’er a memo
randum book of items used before—(book of
seribblings rather; items, taking days to', ga
ther them in chilly, freezing weather—great
expense of limb and leather!) pondered- we
those items o’er. While wo conned them,
slowly rocking (through our mid strangeifan
cifes flocking,) caine a quick, a nervous Knock
ing—knocking at the sanctum door. “ Sure
that must bo Jinks,” we muttered—“Jinks
that’s knocking at our door 1 Jinks the pCrec
yering boro 1" ' ’ V
Ah, how well do we remind us, in the Walls
that then confined us, the “ oxchahges”i;lay
behind us and around us on the floor, ■ ?jiot’
wo « Jinks has called to borrow some newspa
pers 'till to-morrow,’ and ’twill be relief fiiom
sorrow to get rid of Jinks, the bore; soil’ll
open him the door.” ■' Still the visitor kept
louder than before, !.
Bracing up our patience firmer, then with
out another murmur, IJr, Jinks,” said we,
your pardon and forgiveness wo irnploro.—t
But—the fact is- —wp were reading of that
Pembina proceeding, where they voted .the
Pakotas and Ojibways by the score, and were
lost in the reflection that the Otfortail election
might with cart-loads sent for Becker tip qnr
calculations o’er. Here we opened wide the
door. But phansy our phelinks—for it
Jinks the bore. p.? -
But the form that stood before us caused a
trembling to come o'er us, and memory quick
ly bore us back to days of yore; days, when
items were so plenty, and where’er this writer
wenthp picked up interesting ponoilings’at
almost every door. 'Twasour horned under
strapper—'twas this young infernal rapper
hand outstretched;like'Gaptain Tapper, with
“the_ foreman's out of copy, sirand it k;in
der riz bur dander, that like grasping&leiin
dor, he had set .up all the’ copy, and |,alrfeady
wanted “ wanted copy—over|norp 1
Now this local. had already walked about
till nearly dead—he had sauntered through
the city, till his feet, were .very sore—f-w allied
through Bine end Spruce and Cedar,Through I
the ■ stvoota, ojmW; gpntlo
you never thought of, both public
scuro.; and examined shop and cellar, and
had questioned every “feller,” but they.alf
refused to toll or hint at any “shocking acoi-.
dent," not published heretofore. , Hiiying met
with no sijccoss, hq would rather.’sorter gupss’
ho might hayo felt atrifla wicked at that ngly
little bore, with the message from the foreman,
[ that he wanted “ something more.”
i‘Now it’s time you were departing you
young scamp," cried we, upstarting; “get
you back into the offioerrioffice, where, you
were before; or the words that you have spo
ken sure will get your noddle broken," (and
we seized a cudgel, oaken, that was lying on
the floor, J still he stood and never stirred from
his position ip thp dopr—budged the dpvil,
neper more 1
‘■‘ Inky demon of evil! dost in per
secution royolf Thinkest thou to hunt and
haunt me like'nn everlasting horo? Leave!
or-7r(pauae till I have said it) this sheet thou
art doomed to edit, and to live, like.ine, on cre
dit, live on credit everrriqre!” Then the devil
fled affrighted, njpttered faintly, “Send hihr
more,” ■■ • ■
But our devil, never sitting, still is Hitting,
flitting back.and forth upon the landing just
outside the sanctum door; tears a-down his
cheeks are streaming, strange light from his
eyes, gleaming, and his voice is heard a
screaming, “ Sir, the foreman wants some
more 1”. -Shocked and startled by that warn
ing we!ve awakened every morning, and Ave
hear the dismal homings of the imp outside I
the door; and a fancy will come o'er us, that I
each reader’s face before us bears the signet,
tf give .us .classic draughts and antiquated
lore I” “ Copy,” still—forevermore I
A Woman joining the Sons of Malta.
The disappearance of the man named Cur
ds from Janesville, Ohio, supposed to have
been spirited away and disposed of by the
Sons of Malta, for exposing their secrets, is
explained. His wife publishes a statement
'in which she says that her husband left town
he was angry and mortified at'her
having imposed herself upon the Sons of Mal
ta, dressed in man's clothes and beep partial
ly initiated, Mrs. Curtis gives, an amusing
account of her experiences among the Sons.
She pud a neighbor, Mrs. Smith, haying a
womanly curiosity to explore the secrets wlych
their husbands would not toll then}, brinoT
one of.tlio Sons to introduce them as men, for
initiation, They put op their Imsbahds’
clothes and wont to the lodge-room. They
did not go through all the ceremonies. Mrs.
Curtis got only as far as being tossed in a
blanket. She describes the conclusion of her
adventure ps follows ■
. “ When the conductor paid, “ Can you swim,
sir ?” I said ‘Yes!' ‘Can you swim in four
fe'en feet of Water V I said ‘Yes I the deeper
the better!’ ‘Well, take off your coat and try
yourself/ , Now when he said ‘take off your
.coat,’ that scared mo, because I had on a
loose sack on purpose, for reason you will
see yourself. However, I thought a moment
and then said, ‘No, sir; noyor heed the coat—
I can swim as well with as without it 1' 'Very
well,’ said the conductor, ‘your peril will; be
upon your own head. Ifow hold up your,
right hand, sir this life.-presoryer iand
—/ ‘Here he gavo ipe a push .and T wentbyer
backward, and as soon as I alighted I went
up again; flying—then down and pp in the
same way, until I thought all my brains were
flying opt gf the top of my head, then eyery
thing swam round and round until I did not
know anything at all, for I had fainted, The
next place I found myself in, was the ante
chamber, or rather, just being led into the
ante-chamber by two men, and I was first
Conscious that I must have been pitting in a
bath tub with my clothes on. I think the
cool air brought nio to ray senses. The two
men looked vory’searod and sorry. I looked
about for Mrs.-Smith and Joe, but they .had
gone ns soon as they heard the noise in initia
ting mo. I asked one of the men if Mr. Cur
tis ivas in the lodged The man said he ■jvas.
1 said I should like to sob him h minute.
The man wont into the pledge room; and pre-
sently out came my beautiful husband, pH
muffled up. I just whispered a work or two
in his ear, and may be he didn’t pull off his
gown and hood in short order pud walk hupio
with mo. _ Ho loft mo that night in ftPgor
and mortification, and I not spop ium
since, But then he had no need to bo angry,
because he" has always known that I have
been in favor of 'women's, rights,’ and have
always held that women ore as capable as
men. But when it comes to the Sons of Mal
ta I think ‘women’s rights’ is a failure; they
cannot do it.”
ON THE LOSS OF A CHILD.
Not doad, but sleeping with shut eyes,
On which no more tho sun shall rise;
Though ho shall wako anon, and soo
Tho splendor of eternity.
Yet, oh ! how still and deep his rest!
His hands are folded on his breast;
Composed his limbs, and calm his face—
A statue both in mien apd g^apo.
Aids! how few, though, his year?—
A being of more smiles than tears;
On him our fondest hopes were cast—
Our host beloved, because our last.
■Ah I ho was fairer than a mourn
Of summer, when the rose' is born,
And now, as fleeting as the rose,
Pale, pale he sleeps, like winter snows,
How long the day will seem—how long
Without his sweet and pleasant song;
The music of our homo is fled,
Because oar little bird is dead.
fie sleeps where, when the years have flown
His solemn bod shall bo our own;
And there, where-ho has gone before,
Our souls shall meet to part no more.
Holes for Going to Sleep.
1. pix the thoughts, on getting into bed,
on some ope tiling, vast and simple.; such as
a cloudless sky or the boundless ocean, or the
ceaselpss -goodness of the Father of us all.
2. It kgs been sfiid that sleep has been pro
moted by lying with the head toward the
and not by any means toward the
IVeat, because of certain electric currents.
3. A writer recommends to commence roll
ing the eye-balls round the circuit of the eye
in the same direction, until sleep comes.
. 4. Another avers that the best plan is to
place the head in a comfortable position, shut
the mouth and breathe through the nostrils
only, making an effort to imagine that you see
the breath going out aU the. time.
5. When persons are prevented from sleep
ing by a hacking cough, sleep is sometimes
induced by having two pieces of muslin, say
six inches by four, and three or four folds
thick, to be used alternately thus; have a
saucer at hand, half filled with alcohol, dip
one end of the cloths into it, then press it out,
so as. not to . dribble, and- lay it across the
chest, the upper edge of cloth, ranging with
the collar bone; let it remain five minutes,
then put oh the other, alternating thus (by
with as., little.motion ;or noisp as
possible, the patient .‘being composed for
sleep. ; .
_ 7. A French medical journal adyiseSj in re
tiring, to put five or six bits of sugar candy
as large as a hazlenut, in the mouth, averring
that before they are molted the desired,effect
will bo produced. This may avail in case of
simple sleeplessness, not as the result of any
special disease. We would not ‘ advise such
an expedient, , for persons have boon known to
lose life by going to sloop with something in
the mouth. If it is attempted at all, the
candy should bo placed between the cheeks
and the gupis, and the mouth kept resolutely
closed, ' . ' '
A list of Unpublished Inventions,
1. A powder-proof female.
2. A wedlock which cannot be picked by
lawyers, ■ ,
3. A peolf jnegsgre which holds but; a half
pock,
4. An electrical machine which gets up an
affinity between uncongenial spirits.
5. An electro-magnetic alarm, which warns
susceptible young women against designing
men. ,
6. A machine which cleans and threshes
children.
7. A machine which goes through the
whole process of courtship and marriage -
This is the invention of a tailor and hair
dresser.
8. A machine which cuts poor old acquain
tances and makes rich now ones. It is the
invention of a retired millionaire,
9. A disagreeable easy chair for unwelcome
visitors. It is upholstered with currycombs,
hair pins and fish hooks. No editorial sanc
tum should bo without one.
10. A machine for polishing a tarnished
character. The polishing is conducted in a
fashionable church, by mogns of g banknote
and sandrpaper,
11. An instantaneous hgindyo (die.) This
is a composition into which Carlisle whisky
largely enters. It operates on the body first,
and then on the Jjair,
12. A composition to mgke fat men lean.
It is almost wholly composed of alcohol. We
I saw a fine-looking, portly gentleman, whohad
just taken a dosp, leqn against a lamp-post the
other pight.
JSxliansUon of Talk.
How - long the lamp of conversation holds
out to burn between two persons only is curi
ously set do-iyn in the following passage from
Count Gonfallionior’s account of his impris
onment:
‘■‘Fifteen ypgrs T existed in a dungeon ton
feet squarel During six years I had a com
panion; during nine I was alone. I never
could rightly distinguish the face of him who
shared ray captivity in the .eternal twilight of
our poll. The first year we talked incessant
ly together; wo related our past lives, our
joys forever gone, over and over again. The
next year wo communicated to each other our
thoughts and ideas on all subjects. The third
year wo had no ideas to communicate; wo
were beginning to lose the power of reflection.
The fourth, at the interval of a month or so,
wo would open.our lips to ask each other if it
were possible that the world went on as gay
and bustling ns when wo formed a portion of
mankind, The fifth we wore silent. The
sixth bo was taken away—l never kpow
where, JO execution or liberty. But f was
glad when ho was gone—even solitude was
bettor than the pale, vacant face. One day
(it must ligye boon a year or two after my
companion'loft-me,) the dungeon door was
opened,’ whence proceeding X know not, the
following words wore uttered: ‘By order of
his Imperial Majesty, I intimate to you that
your wife died a yeat ago.' Then the door
was shut,’ and X hoard no more; they had but
flung'this groat agony npon me, and .left mo
alone'with it.”
DC7* It is' positively stated that Old John
Brown onoo visited Mississippi as a repairer
of clocks, thus securing an oppdttumty to
confer with tho negroes. 1
The Jewels of (be Months.
Ip Poland, according to a superstitious, bo-
Hof, each month of the year is under the in
fluence of some precious stone, which influ
ence is Attached to the destiny of persons
bofn during the course of tho month. It is,
iu ponspquen'ce, customary among friends, pud
Ujof p particularly between lovers, to make, on
birthdays, reciprocal presents, consisting of
some jetypl ornamented with the tutelar stone.
It is gpnprglly believed that this prediction of
happiness, or rather of the future destiny will
be realised according to the wishes expressed
on the occasion.
January —Tho stone of January is the Ja
cinth or Garnet, which denotes constancy and
fidelity in any sort of engagemiit.
February —Tho Amethyst, a preservative
against violent passions, and an assurance of
peace of mind and sincerity.
March —Tho Bloodstone is the stone of cou
rage and wisdom, in perilous undertakings,
and firmness in affection.
April —The Sapphire, or diamond, is the
stone of repentance, innocence, and kindliness
of disposition, ■
jVay—The Emerald, This stqnp signifies
happiness ip love, ,and domestic felicity,
JunfcrThp Agate is the stone of Joiig fife,
health and prosperity.
July—Tho Ruby, or Cornelian, denotes for ;
gotfulness of, and exemption from the vexa
tions caused by friendship and love.
Sardonyx. This stone denotes
conjugal felicity.
September— Chrysolite is the stope
which nrpsprves. find cures madness ftncj dp-:
spair, . -. ,
Ociaier—The Aqua-Marine, or Opal signir
fies distress and hope.
November-^ The Topaz signifies fidelity and
friendship,
: December^—. The Turquoise is tho stone which
expresses great sureness and prosperity in
love, and in all the circumstances of life.
THE WORLD.
The folio-wing was one of the late Major
Noah's stories:
. “Sir, bring me a good, plain dinner,” said
a melancholy looking individual to a waiter
at one of our principal hotels.
■ “Yes,> sir." ■
The dinner was brought and devoured, and
the eater called the landlord aside, and thus
addressed him:
; “Are you the landlord ?”
.“Yes.”
“You do a good business ?”
“Yes,” (in astonishment.)
“You make, probably, ten dollars a. day,
clear?” ' *
“Yes.”
' “Then lam safe. I have been out of em
ployment about seven months; but I engaged
to work to-morrow. ' I had been without food'
1 twenty-four hours when I entered your estab
lishment, . I will pay You in a week.” ~
“I cannot pay my bills with such promises,”
blustered the landlord;, “and I do not keep a
poor house. You should address the proper
authorities, leave the. something for secu
rity.” .' ■
“I have nothing.”
“I will take your coat."
“If I go into the street without that, I will
get my death such weather as this."
“You should have thought of that before
you came here.”
“Are you serious ? Well, I solemnly aver
that ono week from how I will pay you.”
“I will take the coat." ’
Tho.cogt was loft, and a wee if aftprwgs re
deemed, -
Seven ycprs_ after that, a wsalthy.man en
tered the political arena and .was presented to
a caucus , as an applicant for congressional
nomination. The principal man of tfie cau
cus hold his peace-rhe heard the' history of
the applicant, who wpsmenthep of the
church, am} onp of the njost respectable citi
zens. He w.as the pligirmjpi. The vote was
a tie, am} he opst a hogatiyp, thereby defeat
ing the wealthy applicant, and whom he met
anhopr. afterwards, and to him he said:
‘/Ton don't remember me?"
. “No." ' , , .
“I once pts dinner at your hotel, and al
though J told you I was famishing, and pledg
ed ipy word of honor to pay you in a week,
yog fopk my poat, and saw-uio go out into the
inclement air, at the risk of. my life, without
it.” ' ..
“Well, sir, what then .
“Not much. You callyourself a Christian.
I To-night you were a candidate for nomination,
and but for me you would have boon elected
to Congress.”
Three years after the Christian hotel keep
er became bankrupt. The poor, .dlnnorloss
wretch that was, is now a high functionary in
Albany. I know him well. The ways of
Providence are indeed wonderful, and the
mutations almost beyond conception or belief.
From Galiguani’s Messenger, Dec. 25.
Danger of Another Deluge—The Norhcrn Hem
isphere to be Submerged, and a New World
from the South. . .. .
Wo have had occasion to peruse a remarka
ble work, just published, entitled “ Courants
at Revolutions deil atmosphere otdo la lifer,"
by Lieut. Julicn, a distinguished officer in the
French navy. The greater part of the book
is devoted to a general description of lieuten
ant Maury’s splendid theory qf Currents and
winds, by which ho explains tljo recurrence
of storms and other meteorological phoijome-
I na; but what has chiefly attracted our atten
tention is a now theory bn the invitable peri
odical return of a cataclysm similar to that
known under the name of the Universal Del
uge, a suin'oct which the author treats with
singular lucidity, and of which we' will hpre
endeavor to give an outline:
The author starts from certain facts, some I
of which are generally known, viz: I- That
the isothermal, lines (linos whore the same de
gree of warmth is observed on onr globe) of
the highest temperature are equally distribu.-
ted between Northern and Southern homisr .
phores, the space they occupy in the former ,
being about double of that which they ofccupy ,
South of the equator, so that the Southern ,
hemisphere is considerably colder. pspeoigHy
towards the polo, than the Northern one, R.
That the accumulation of ice at the Antarctic
Solo, is ipuoh more considerable than qt the
ortiiorn, 3. That the earth, performs tiro
shortest portion of its revolution, viz: that
nearest to the perihelion, much more rapidly
than the other, and at that period of the year
which comprises the autumn and winter of
the Northern hemisphere. Hence it follows
that the winter of the latter is. shorter (by
about 8 days) than that of the Southern hem
isphere ; and it is during this long winter,
when the earth is furthest from the sun, that
the solar rays must lose in strength what they
gain in duration. To this cause of diminu
tion of temperature must bo added the loss of
caloric by radiation, and it will then be easy
to perceive the reason of the difference of tem
perature between the two hemispheres. Ob
servation, moreover, has shown that the quan-
tity of choleric lost at the South pole in the
'course of a year, is equal to the surplus ab
sorbed qt the North polo. Now lot us, with
the author, mentally represent to ourselves
the earth at the moiiient of its creation, when
its whole surface was covered iyith water, and
I its centre of gravity coinpided yjdth its ge(K
metrical centre, Jroiq that rqo(qpntits revo
lution around the spn commenced, and all
those causes Tyhich haye led to an inequality
of temperature between thp two hemisphere^
• began to operate. |n the poprsp of a few cen
turies the ice pt the Soiiih pole-become in con
sequence heavier than 1 that acoqipplated at
the North polo, and the centre of gfqyity was
displaced mathematicians, in
fact, state the distance between thp latter and
the geometrical centre to h,b about 1,700 me
tres. Under the circumstances, what could
the liquid surface of the globe do hut flow
southward, leaving all the continent we arb
so familiar with uncovered. Hero M. Julien
observes that all the regions of the Southern
hemisphere hear unmistakable marks of sub
mersion ; that America, Africa and India end
in points, all turned towards tho South pole;
that tho islands of the Southern regions have
the qpppqrqnce of, the summits: of mountain
ranges, anp that Liciit. Saury’s soundings
show that thp coast ou that side all descended
abruptly into the sea. He farther states the’
curioqsfqot that going from the hjorth to the
South pole qt every pqrqllel the ratio of the
extent of land to that of the seq diminishes
regularly and progressively.
Let us now take into consideration the phe
nomenon called the Prooessipn of the .Equi
noxes, in virtpo of which the first point of
Arles recedes upon the ecliptic by about 5a
seconds in q year; This gradually causes a
complete change in thq seqsbns; and counting
from any giyon time, there iqviat elapse at
least 21,000 before the seasons ojvn return at
precisely the same period of the year. It.has
been Ascertained that, up to the year 1248 of
the Christian era, a year in which the first
day of winter precisely coincided with the
earth’s passage through its perihelion, the
temperature of the Southern hemisphere had
hbten in constant course of diminution. It ia
moreovor clear that after the lapse of 10,50tf
years, tho seasons on our globe must bo ex
actly reversed. Hence,, about 10,500 years
before the year 1248, qr 11,QQ years .before
our present time, it was the north polo, and,
not its opposite one, which was ht its max
imum of refrigeration; our. present con
tinents were then submerged, according tq
Mosaic tradition, of .the psluge, and there
were continents unknown to ns in the south
ern hemisphere. And, qgain, by the same’
astronomical and nqturgl Iqws, 10,500 years
qfter fhe last pqtablyism, q new one will oc
cur, which will again suhtpergo the northern ;
hemisphere, and allow a new world to emerge
from the ocean in the Southern one.
A Jlcautifnl Story.
The Green Bay (Wisconsin) Advocate, hits'
g talented and accomplished lady correspond-.
cht, : who signs herself “ Long a coming?'- If
sho is as beautiful ns some of her brilliant
productions, we think she can bear the palm.'
Here is one of her last effusions,-dope up in
rhyme, and a pretty little thing it is! ft is’
entitled .
THE HOCCASIX FLCrtTEn.
[ ’Twas just one hundred v-pars ago, down off
the Little Suainico, a maiden, on the yellow
sands, was tearing,' with her pretty hands,’
her long and glossy raven ligir. It was a
civilized despair; for tl}Offgh she knew not.
‘f Ovid’s Art of Loye'j'! slid had a human heart
. that loyed tyith more than art: ’twas life—al(.
that defines that one word w.ifp; wps gone and
I blotted from the world; tho' stars and moon to’
i darkness hurled, Life ran, ap ever wid’nipg ’
river, to seas where darkffoss hung forever:- 1 —
Plow oil, thou careless jSuamico, by golden
sands forever flow; the honeysuckle blooihing
wild lcans down—tholittle lndian child kneels
down to kiss thy wave, beside the Indian warf
riors grave, and there the bride walks with
her lover, under the summer’s le.afy cover, ■
under boughs of yerdant tr.ces that jffiirmpr
in tho evening breeze, nor flowers of one hffffr
dred years can equal now that maiden’s tears,
that fell a century ago,- and sanctified the .
Suainico; . .. .
“By why should mhidens thus despair?’!
she said, and smoothed her raven hair. “I’ll
follow in the pathless wind, and, this dark
river leave behind. Better die in Idvo’s en
deavor, than sink in hopelessness foreyor."
- Tho red stars, gleam, the \Phip-ppprrwilJ.
answers tho owl, under the hill, ■ The quakes’
are coiled in tangled swales; tlfe woofls qeenf
full of human wails, and flfends flt f<jr ff maif
don’s head, and ghostly forips, froffj wlpch' she’
fled; and, on the lake, the lonely loon floats
by the lillies, where the moon casts shadows,
from the tall dark trees, while, softer-footed
than the breeze, she steals on in the hunter’s
track. The iffoon is gone—the night is black;
she, when the, east the morn turns gray,.sink’s
on tho hillside, far away. Arid there, beside'
the bubbling spring, wherp ovorhgqgiff'g grape-'
vines swing, she see's the youngbirds, ip tjib'
nest, bide their heads in their mother's hreffsV
All, birds have’ mates, each has a hojffe, but
loye-lprn maids are doomed’ to roam. But,’
when morn pours its golden flood, she' finds a
trace of fresn-shed blood—a broken arrow from
his quiver, fop whom she wept heqidp the rivr'
or. Love lent her wipes—away she flew.;
through noon-day heat till oyoffihg dow. amf
all the night, till ifforff again. ' Alas, for
stony-hearted ipcn ( Lave follows thorn, with
bleeding feet, through pathless woods, and in’
tho street—forgives what pffnriot be forgiven;’
and.goes to plead man's oapso in heaven.y , .
Her moccasins are gonp; the' maid sinks'
down whore sun and shadow braid a carpet in'
the noon-day hours; tho’erirasoff drops are; on’
tho flowers; and tears arc in the violet’s eyes.’ ■
and in th,o seontotf air the sighs, tfffl lost faint
gusts, the fitful brepth of Jim has blown ’ her’
!on tp <Joath] fn the' happy hunting, ground’
above, she found.eternity of love. And how,’
where’er the maiden trod, the moocasih peeps
through the sod, And Indians say “ they
I grew as largo as any maiden’s shoe,” ahd'
they, by Indian maids, wore worn, when’othor
moceasms_ wore torn.: Plow on, tlion cease*'
loss Suamioo, by golden sands forever flow.—
Take the’ songs tho wild birds sing; take these
flowers tliat X fling; I would your iqurmuring
waters bore some sorrows from this fragrant
shore, that those who mourn upon thy sands;
for hearts grown cold in stranger-lands, might
see tho rainbow in tha sky—might; see the *
heart of hope' float by, might hail it in their
deep distress, and on it float to happiness."
O' A good story is told of a country gen
tleman, who for tho first time heard ari Epi£"
copal clergyman preach. He hitd'hoprd pjuch
of the aristocracy of the church, and when he
returned home ho was asked if tho people were
<r stuck, lip.’,’ “ Pshow! no," he replied, “why
tho minister actually preached m his shirt
sleeves."
O* An exchange warns its readers hot to'
eat patridgos at this season of tho'year, as the
birds eat laurel leaf, and phison themselves'
out of spite to revenge their being cooked.
SO. in.